When The Image Is New, The World

The Repose Of Sleep Refreshes Only The Body. It Rarely Sets The Soul At Rest. The Repose Of The Night Does Not Belong To Us. It Is Not The Possession Of Our Being. Sleep Opens Within Us An Inn For Phantoms. In The Morning We Must Sweep Out The Shadows.

Why Should The Actions Of The Imagination Not Be As Real As Those Of Perception?

Our Whole Childhood Remains To Be Reimagined. In Reimagining It, We Have The Possibility Of Recovering It In The Very Life Of Our Reveries As A Solitary Child.

Of Course, Thanks To The House, A Great Many Of Our Memories Are Housed, And If The House Is A Bit Elaborate, If It Has A Cellar And A Garret, Nooks And Corridors, Our Memories Have Refuges That Are All The More Clearly Delineated. All Our Lives We Come Back To Them In Our Daydreams. A Psychoanalyst Should, Therefore, Turn His Attention To This Simple Localization Of Our Memories. I Should Like To Give The Name Of Topoanalysis To This Auxiliary Of Pyschoanalysis. Topoanalysis, Then Would Be The Systematic Psychological Study Of The Sites Of Our Intimate Lives.

Every Corner In A House, Every Angle In A Room, Every Inch Of Secluded Space In Which We Like To Hide, Or Withdraw Into Ourselves, Is A Symbol Of Solitude For The Imagination; That Is To Say, It Is The Germ Of A Room, Or Of A House.